Calethiel and Legolas
by KateMcGinley
Summary: calethiel is overwhelmed by an unknown grief that plays a roll in Saruman's part in destroying the elven kingdoms and helping sauron. she joins the fellowship and is relieved of her grief by legolas's love. i promise this story isnt corny or over dramatic
1. Fortune

CHAPTHER 1

CALEITHIEL

The forest seemed dim, as if a reminder of home was growing through its roots. Even the forest was now something that weighed on my mind. I felt myself weaken; nearly building brittleness along the lining of my skin as I my slight grief surged through it. Though, it was not so slight any longer. For it has not been for quite some time now: it had grown from night and day, stars and sun, and though Gandalf had known that, it was getting bad enough that even I began to notice through all my stubbornness. I was dying, and not even the warmth of the trees could save me now; not even Gandalf's humor, or the birds, or the rain, the river by the old oak tree in Breeland, nothing.

I was dying of a grief I knew not of.

I made my way towards the light that signified as the forest edge, and as I neared, I saw Gandalf, readying his wagon. I paused for a moment; and more ill came to my mind.

The factor of our send-off from this forest was lean, for we had just arrived to the trees of Brethil the day before yesterday. More often than not, when we travel, we linger in the same destination for moon after moon. Yet, something was wrong this day, and I could feel change in the ground. Gandalf was leaving, and on his own this time.

For we have parted before, yet only to retrieve and return, other than that we were a compound, never leaving the other for more and a three moons night.

I struggled to make my way over to him fast enough to satisfy my eager mind, for my body was weaker now than it had ever been and I had not liked the taste of it. I came up slowly behind him and paused; watching him fill his wagon of pipe weed and fireworks with the rough hands of a wooden-staff-keeper.

My brows formed downward, slanting toward the bridge of my nose, yet I relaxed them. There was no good use in being confused with Gandalf, at least not when you have ability with patients.

"You are leaving." I said softly with a tilt of my head that suggested somberness in me. He turned to me, with surprise in his face, I suppose he forgot how stealthy elves were, or that I would have return and caught him in the middle of his departure. But, where shock was, grew an understanding, apologetic smile, and he nodded his head slightly.

"Yes." He murmured, returning to his packing, "to the shire." He said clearer.

"Were you to leave without warning?" I asked, while scaling onto the ledge of his wagon, which I found difficult, as much had been during passed days. There was no use in putting irritation in my voice; I found little use in it as well as anger, for they never quite sufficed well with Gandalf.

He did not answer, and went on whistling a humble tune, that seemed to fade at the break of his lips. By the amount of pipe weed he had packed, I should have known he was going to Hobbiton. "Is it Bilbo then?" I asked. Dear old Bilbo, who Gandalf held near in his heart; It must be a party of some sort, judging by the array fireworks tucked away in the left corner of the old wooden cart; a party of which I received no enticement.

"His eleventy-first birthday." He said, covering up his shortness with a small smile. He sounded slightly troubled. And whether it was of Bilbo, or of our near departure I was not sure.

"eil shar os si vol?" (And what of the ring) I whispered quickly. He stopped his packing and stared at the ground for a moment, and then looked around him. For this was a subject not to be heard by seedy ears. He brought his face back down to the grass; it must be the ring that is weighing on him. Finally he looked up at me, dimly avoiding my eyes.

"I shall learn if it is indeed the one ring before the week is out." He said softly in his old, yet very strong voice, and then went back to his packing, dismissing the matter. I jumped down from his wagon, preparing myself to soothingly confront him. If Bilbo indeed had the one ring, we must bring it to the house of Elrond. Yet, before I could lift my lips, the jolt of reaching the ground hit me, and I nearly tumbled over. Gandalf caught a glimpse of my stumble out of the corner of a wise eye. Calmly, I collected myself and aligned my body upright, standing tall from the ground. Gandalf stopped his packing and brought all focus upon me.

An exhale broke from the paleness of his brittle teeth.

"Dear friend," he said sweetly, "no more troubling thoughts." I tilted my head away from him, and thought silently in a swell of stubborn solemn. I suppose I was the slightest bit frustrated by his leaving, but Gandalf always meant the best, and I quickly let go of what anger I held with him and the matter. "It's part of my plan, you know." He said, referring to his parting.

"Always a plan with you." I said with dry humor. "Can I not go with you friend?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer. Gandalf was quite unpredictable though, I suppose that was the only reason I had questioned, for I had the slightest hope in me that he may allow me to convoy him once more.

Yet, he smiled, shook his head, and coddled "no, child." My hope submerged to the back of my mind, and I felt a little weaker. "It would not go along with the plan, you see." He smiled even greater. "Besides, those shire-lings would fall ill of excitement if an elf-maiden of Lorien were to roam Hobbiton, let alone a _royal_ elf-maiden of Lorien, They may as well drop of death!" he explained with great enthusiasm. We laughed together.

"The shire," I hummed, as our laughter died out. "I _have _longed to see it. You know, it's probably the one pleasant place I have not been," I sighed.

"See the shire?" Gandalf gasped, I looked at him faintly puzzled. "My friend, the shire longs to see you!" he said, chuckling again. "See the shire," he mumbled to himself, "your quite the odd elf my dear." He declared, while absent mindedly wagging his finger at me. I must have laughed the most I've ever laughed this whole day.

"But a dear Elf to you nonetheless," I objected humbly.

"Ay that you are." He nodded, "and because of that, I must leave." He said, allowing the conversation to die down for a moment. I crossed my arms and leaned against a nearby tree.

"And where am I to go?" I asked myself allowed, waiting for Gandalf to answer for me.

"home." He answered quickly. "It would smother your grief, and the small bit of your mothers as well. For you belong on the thrown Calethiel." He said with the upmost seriousness. I laughed at his words as I took a jar of pipe weed from his wagon and fiddled with it in my hands. It was in fact too easy to figure his intentions sometimes.

"And by home you mean Rivendell? Of course, knowing I would never go home to Lorien unless on my own terms." I said slickly. He smiled his very widest smile and placed his hands on his heart.

"Ay, curse me for trying to fool an elf." He chuckled, while tossing me his old wooden whittled pipe. I stuffed the jar and the pipe both in my small leather sac I wore around my back, and continued to laugh along with him.

As we pulled his wagon over to Shadowfax, and I helped Gandalf prepare to take leave, I could not help but think of Gandalf's "plan." This was a normal thing for me, but now that the two of us are parting, I much desired to ask him about it, just this once.

"Friend," I started gently, "do not think me a fool, for I already know you never share you preparations with me, nor anyone, but just this once my desire to know has gotten the better of me. Will you not tell me something more than a riddling fortune?" I nearly begged.

Gandalf looked at me with his old eyes, and smiled, pushing every wrinkle to either side of his face, "Elven groveling?" he laughed, "Well that is certainly a sight I must say." He smirked at me as I helped him onto the wagon.

I sighed, "A fortune then?" I settled.

He hummed a laugh or two, smiled his greatest smile yet this day, and said "Your happiness lies within the good messenger of the woodland realm."

I nodded, accepting my last fortune before I proposed him farewell.

"Smile, Calethiel." Gandalf demanded, as sweetly as he could.

I shook my head. "Do not worry friend," I assured him with a smile. "I do not doubt your ability to do me a common favor. If this is best then I bid you good leave taking. Bitterness would weigh more on me now than ever." I said, stepping back from his wagon, and giving him room to ride away.

"We shall meet again; do not lose faith in me yet." He said, as he gave Shadowfax the signal to go.

"Another fortune?" I asked, calling out to him.

"A promise." He said shallow, knowing my elf ears would hear. I could feel his mouth stretch wide from corner to corner even from yards away, it made me smile myself.

It was odd, watching him ride off. I studied his wagon for as long as my elven eyes allowed me. My sweet friend was gone. Once he was out of complete sight, I was not sure of what to do with myself. I stood there for a moment, in our clearing that we had spent so little in. I suppose I should head for Rivendell, considering going home to lothlorien was not even an option in my mind. Without another thought, I whistled for my horse, Glindofin, and began to travel in the opposite direction of Gandalf, making sure I did not look back.


	2. Forever Fall

CALETHIEL

Much thinking comes along with a three-day horse ride, especially since my days began to feel stretched. And as my days, I began to feel stretched as well; as if the happy things that used to keep me together were now falling apart, spreading out and leaving gaps for me to fill with new happiness, but there were no new happy things to fill myself up with. No new pleasures, no new knowledge… for I had no escape. I felt sick and selfish. Even small things, such as beaded rain on a pine, or the smell of forest air, could not bring a lift to my lips. It was as if my teeth were forever held in a grit, and my lips forever paralyzed.

As I entered the silver gates of Rivendell, I noticed Elrond, waiting for me. I slid off my horse and walked towards him as elegantly as I could, trying to cover up the slight wobbling in my ankles. He looked the same as ever, neither young nor old. His hair was darker than mine, nearly deeper in blackness than the night sky when in absence of the moon. Upon his head sat a circlet of silver; his eyes were as grey as my shadow, and in them was a light like the light of stars. I felt dull compared to him, as I should have.

Once we reached one another, I watched him stare into me. His brows slanted into each other colliding in pity and disappointment. I grimaced slightly as I felt him finding how weak my mind and body were. To him, I must have seemed nearly mortal. I looked away from him, ashamed of myself. He reached out to my chin and lightly tilted my head back to face him. He smiled willingly, took both of my hands, and began to lightly chuckle, completely disregarding my state of health.

"It has been too long, child, even in elven years." He said, in a voice like butter. My mouth formed a smile and I nodded in agreement. Elrond has always greeted and cared for me as if one of his children. I have always supposed it was due to the fact that he held so much respect for my mother in his heart, because like him, she too was a bearer of one of the rings of power.

He let go of my left hand as he lead me with my right into his home, which I was no stranger to.

It felt odd being back in Rivendell, in a place that I had enjoyed the company so much more that my home's; a place of everlasting autumn and serenity. This time round I could not feel anything for it, not even if I pushed myself to do so. Rivendell was dry to me now, even its trees and its forever falling springs. It mine as well have been black and white.

The first person to see me as I stepped inside was Arwen. She sat lovely upon a silver chair, embellished with golden threaded leaves, holding a book she must have been reading. She stood up quickly and hurried over to me, smiling as she did so. She stopped just before she reached me, smiled even brighter, and with book still in hand she hugged me. I laughed at her. It had been a good while since I've had seen any old friends other than Gandalf.

"Welcome back to Rivendell." She beamed, still holding me.

"And welcome I feel, friend," I started, as she let go and went to stand next to her father. "Thank you both," I said, putting my upmost gratitude into my mellifluous voice, which I noticed get more faint and hoarse ever day, as if it were rotting.

"We shall leave you to your room to freshen, for you came just in time for a great feast." We bowed to one another before they left me standing in the corridor of Elrond's great home.

After they left, I traced the room with my eyes, trying to admire where I was, but nothing came. Its great architecture filled nothing in me. I merely blinked, sighed at myself, and began to leave for my room.

I passed through a large archway, followed by walking up numerous flights of stairs, which I grew rather tired of after reaching the top. I gritted my teeth in confusion; those stairs had never given me trouble in all my days of sauntering them. My room lay at the end of a long wide hallway. Yet, the hall was not closed in with walls, but ringed with a series of slim silver archways, covered in vines and shrubbery that had ventured windingly up the side of the pillars that held this hallway from the ground; nearly as if the buildings in Rivendell had emerged straight from earths cradling dirt.

My room hadn't changed since the last I've been there, which was over some four hundred years ago. It was the same round high roofed room, same triangular balcony, same forever-arched bay window, same gold Victorian armchair, and same green throw carpeted floor. It was if I had walked into a memory but without one ounce of the same empathy. Once again, I tried to admire where I was, for I used to love this room in my younger years. it was my escape from my duties to Lothlorien. Yet, no joy came to me. All of Rivendell felt so arid in my heart.

I pulled off my sac from around my back and set it on one of the posts on my bed-frame; leaving me to discover that across my bed lay a white dress, which resembled something my mother would wear. Alongside it was a silver circlet, made from silver-dipped vineyard leaves and stems. Elrond or Arwen must have laid it out for me, meaning they knew I was to shortly show up at their doorstep. It's almost funny how Gandalf works, telling Elrond of my arrival.

I then slipped out of the rags I have worn for years, and worn into for that matter. The Mangled pieces of cloth used to be a deep velvet red gown my Father had made for me by the finest tailors known in Lothlorien. Yet it did not remotely look the same any longer, now that I have roamed the vast middle earth in it for nearly half a millennium. The dress itself was grey now, for the sun had drained all of its color, sucking it dry and leaving not a thread of red to be traced. The sleeves that used to reach far beyond my waste and nearly to the ground were now unevenly torn a little past my elbow and the other just above my wrist. Its flowing bottom I had cropped short above my knees and used the left over fabric to cover tightly around each of my bare legs. I looked a misfit in comparison to my kin. And a misfit, I was; for I had not walked among any of my kindred since my last day in Rivendell.

Then again, I suppose I was always a Misfit; for there was always a tension in my heart while living in Lothlorien. It was also hard to be a symbol of such power. The ruling part was not the problem, but the fact that I did not wish to rule. So I ran. Ran like wild fire in an open field, with the wind who was Gandalf.

I placed the dress over my head and let it swathe on to me. It fit as it should have, tightly around my waste and flowing over everything below. I picked up a brush that sat on a stand in my room and pulled it through my dark matted hair, pulling out knots and dirt from my scalp, smoothing it down before I placed the new jewelry on my head. I walked in front of my mirror that hung on my west wall and gazed at myself, long and hard. The gown was simple, as was the crown, but it reminded me of my life in Lorien and instantly I felt more ill. The thought of my home made me sick, as if my stomach was on constant rotation, twisting my heart along with it. Lothloriens whole demeanor made me unwell; its dimness, its culture, its people… my people. The thought of my mother, the great Galadriel, lady of light, filled me up with odium. The root of my illness was obscure to me; there was no reason for me to hate my kin, nor my kingdom. For I had never held disgust for any of Lorien before, only slight distaste of the Elvish ways. Yet, the smallest notion of what once was my home now made me ill: physically and mentally.


	3. Dark Magic

CHAPTER 3

CALETHIEL

I shook my head, trying to shake myself away from my grieving. My face was covered with dirt and light scratches from constantly and carelessly roaming every wood I could find when traveling with Gandalf; for my skin was no longer porcelain, and my flesh began to heal slower than usual. I grabbed a rag that hung over a bowl of water on my stand and began to wash my face, hands, and feet, scrubbing at all the patches of grime that had clung to my skin. The rag looked as if it had been buried in the dirt for years after I was through with it.

I looked myself in the mirror once again, this time feeling clean and ridden from the dirt that had dried to my skin. I did not look too much a misfit anymore, but then again, looks are a small in judgment when it comes to elves. I tucked my old tattered clothes under my stand and lay myself on my bed readying to rest my body. My heart was racing, as if I had mortally ran miles, and then It slowed down, way down; to the point where I was not sure if it was still beating. This cycle began to make me nauseous, and I lightly closed my eyes.

I forced myself to focus on something else, to burry myself into my mind, as if my body no longer was a part of me.

The first thing to come to mind was Gandalf; Gandalf who had taught me great deal of many things, Gandalf who allowed me to follow at his side through nearly every good inch of this earth. The wizard had done much for me, almost as much as we had done for others. For Gandalf an I had faught along side the Mirkwood elves in the Battle of Five Armies, healed many who were ill, thousands who were injured, countless who were troubled, and numerous who we graced them with our company in order of various celebrations.

I began to tear, lightly and silently. And instead of ignoring my grief, I fed it. I fed it with every salted drop that fell from my face.

My tears still did not stop even as Elrond entered my room. I suppose it was my silent asking for help, which I did very seldom till now.

He took my hand as he sat next to me on my bed. He said nothing for a while, just staring and studying again with collided brows of pity. I began to stop my silent tearing, for I felt a fool.

"You are weak," he said quietly, beginning to stroke my hand.

"I am selfish." I added, shaking my head. "I know it 'tis not admired to show self pity, but it is true; And what is self pity when you're dying of a grief you know nothing of? When I picture my life in Lorien, the life I was meant to live, my body fills up with sickness. My heart races with every notion of my kin, and I load myself up with such an amount of abhorrence, that I shake and grit my teeth, like an animal; that is, until self-awareness rears its head and informs me of my repugnance and I become ail. I force myself to think of something unlike, something joyful, but it results with emptiness in me rather than a smile or endearment to something or someone I love; As if my body will not allow me to fill the gaps in my heart with love, and only with hate." I explained angrily and regretfully, noticing Elronds face still in a state of thought. "The light of my kin is leaving me;" I began again. "I can see myself dim and fade day by day. My skin is becoming fragile, as are my bones. I am beginning to feel tired just from walking a few flights of stairs. What a disgrace I must look. A misfit, almost mortal, I keep considering myself. How can I go to my birth place, and rule Lorien as my mother runs to the high hills in the west, when I am I am filled with such disgust and not strong enough to keep my own tears?" I explained, staring blankly into Elronds eyes, not knowing what he was to say to my sorrow.

"I cannot heal you," he started, "But unknown welling grief is matter uncommon to elves." He studied my hands and mind, looking into me and searching for what he thought would be some act of curse or spell that I have been tainted with. I suppose he found one because he looked up at me with rather mystified, and then turned to look out my balcony. As if he were searching for answers to be written on the sky itself.

"An act of sorcery…" I said puzzled. "Is that what you think it is?" he left my side and began to pace back and forth along the throw carpet. "Not Gandalf…" I whispered to him, making sure he did not feel any blame towards my beloved friend.

He shook his head vigorously "no," he ensured me. "No, Gandalf has taken an oath against tainted magic, if he dare tried to poison your mind with such thoughts he would have been struck with a curse and fell ill himself. No, this is a matter to be studied quietly." He said, thinking in silent for a moment or too, once again searching for answers but this time in the floral stitched throw carpet. I began to search for answers myself, and I found one.

"Saruman…" I said whispered ever so slowly. Was it he who had done this seedy thing? "Gandalf and I have spent many summers in Isengard, teaching me of wizard's magic." I said even lower. Elrond said nothing for a while; he was still studying the ground. Minutes had passed before he finally answered.

"He has taken the oath as well; at least I am sure of it." He slightly shook his head while stroking his chin. "Dark magic…" he whispered while tightening his jaw. Elrond then loosened his jaw once more and shook his head. "if it is indeed he who has cursed you, it means he is no longer in our alliance..." he said strongly, yet trailing off. "Never mind these sordid subjects my dear, for your mind is much too frail. Come! Let this eve the beginning of your healing child, we shall eat, dance, and sing ourselves a path to happiness." He said, instantly changing his attitude and heading for the door. "Come!" he called again as he pulled me from my bed and up on my feet. "Let us dance and be merry and feast; no more resentment for this dreadfully bitter ailment! We shall learn more after the sun dawns" I nodded in agreement. However, my mind was not that easily distracted, especially now that it was weaker than a dying branch of a birch tree. But, I put on a content face and walked by his side.

He led me from my room, down the stairs, to the west wing of his castle where we entered a court yard of music and merriness. Everyone was seated at long thin tables piled with elven food and drinks. Each of them laughing or singing along with the conversations they carried with their seated neighbors. Again, I felt as if I had walked straight into a recollection.

Most of these elves I had met before, some I had even been quite well acquaintances and friends with in my younger years. Those who befriended me long ago blessed me with a smile and a greeting nod, and those who knew my reputation for leaving my mother and the thrown scowled ever so gracefully. I kept my eyes to myself and tried to keep my head clear of angry thoughts. Elrond went to seat himself next to Arwen, leaving me to find a seat on the other side of her. She beamed at me with thick lips as I sat down.

"Lovely as always, dear friend." she said referring to my new attire. It was now clear that Arwen must have been the one who had laid the dress and headpiece out for me.

"Was it yours?" I asked my voice so hoarse in comparison to hers. I cleared my throat quietly.

"No," she said in her honeyed voice. "That would be uncouth for an heir of one thrown to give an heir of another a cast-off." She said humorously but endearingly. I forced a smile, but the hate for the authority she gave me with the term 'heir' caused me to smile crooked. "I had it made for you this morning, and the crown the night before."

"I cannot but keep thanking you friend." I laughed. "For I am sure I would be staying under the stars if it were not for my friendship with you and your kin. I am fair with earth and sky, but resting among friends who resemble family is much easier on my mind." I explained, even though my feelings were somewhat contrary.

"A home is a home to you and all your kindred if a home is what is needed." She said. I nodded and smiled. I opened my mouth to say the same to her, but, my illness surfaced again, and I was forced to close my mouth before I fell faint.

We waited in silence for a moment, until a regained enough of my health to start up the conversation once more, trying my hardest to look entertained and amused. "You may just have to teach me how to dance, Arwen." I made fun, "I believe I have forgotten." I said still laughing. Even though my amusement was not completely sincere, I did somewhat miss my days with Arwen and my other friends in Rivendell, making my happiness easier to imitate.

"Only if you teach me how you sing!" she argued playfully, her laugh was much stronger than mine, I felt the need to step up my role playing. I laughed at her twice as hard, which still could not compare to the strength of hers, nor the beauty.

"We shall learn from each other, friend." I smiled and she nodded happily, ending the conversation for later when we actually had to do such. I did not look forward to singing or dancing, I did not believe I had the energy or the state of mind.


	4. Comfort Willow

CHAPTER 4

CALETHIEL

I circled the table with my eyes, avoiding direct eye contact from anyone who may have been looking at me as well. What a merry thing I've missed out on for so long. I suppose it did fill a small gap in my stretched body. For a part of me missed elven living and dining; such merry celebrators they were, but such heavy carriers of burdens. I trust I had forgotten all about these parties that tend to happen for no reason but just to be cheery together.

Elrond stood from his chair and all conversation fell still, with a smile he began a speech: "Let tonight be a night of glee, let us dance and eat and sing all in the welcome and company of our guest, Calethiel, daughter of light." Every eye was on me, some pleasant, some slightly aghast most likely due to the fact that I was still alive; for no elf has seen or heard from me in a good while.

I felt vulnerable to their judgment, and smiling would not fool all the elves at this lengthy table, so I did nothing but nod to Elrond, and sink back into my chair. We continued with our feast and I made sure I did not allow my eyes to drift beyond my dinner or Arwen and Elrond's faces.

Once finished with eating, I managed to sneak off to a small patch of trees by the rushing stream that flows straight through Rivendell. I had coveted to these trees many times before; it was where I did most of my thinking.

I could not bear trying to blend in during dinner; trying to dance and sing along with everyone would just make me feel more of a misfit, and the reminder of home it would give me would just make me even more upset. I sat down, leaning my back against a willow tree, which had the oddest bark. Its skin was rather soft and I knew it well enough to trace its crimped patterns with eyes closed. I began to puff on Gandalf's pipe.

Pipe weed always eased the pain and sick feeling I had. For it was quite anomalous in elves and awfully rare to even hear that an elf smoked pipe weed. I was likely to be the only elf throughout Rivendell to even have the herb in possession.

I looked up through the leaves of the willow I sat beneath. The moon was full this night. I suppose it was nothing special. For I have lived long enough to know each tree in this patch of wood by seedling, where as a full moon comes along every month. I wonder how many full moons I have looked up at in my life. I wonder if Gandalf is looking up at the moon as well…

"Gandalf," I sighed to myself. I could smell him, for his pipe was strong of his sent, as if it had seeped into the crevices and splinters of the whittled wood. Somehow it was even stronger than the smell of the weed. His sent made me smile and the frown, and I suppose this was all I had of him for a while, for I had not the slightest idea when I would see him again. But I would see him again; it was rare when Gandalf failed to keep a promise. It was also rare when his fortunes were wrong, even when even he knew not of its meaning. I began to think of what he told me: "Your happiness lies within the good messenger of the woodland realm," he said. My brows slid inwards as I puffed on the pipe again, letting it hang out of my mouth as I rolled it lightly side to side with my teeth.

_Good messenger of the woodland realm, _I thought. The woodland realm was obviously Mirkwood, for that was its alternating name, but good messenger? There was no specific renowned messenger for Mirkwood, it was a simple organization of woodland elves; there was no need for a renowned messenger. Besides the fact that I was sure there was not specific messenger, I was also not sure how he or she was going to relieve me of my grief. Would the news that they delivers somehow resolve everything that's been ailing me? Or perhaps they will deliver me the name of the wizard who has tainted me with such magic. I was uncertain, and rather confused.

I looked back up to the moon again, finally coming out of my state of thought and recalling where I was, for I could hear the elves of Rivendell singing and laughing from off in the distance. I made a bit of a sulking face at the sound of their joy, and then looked back upwards to the moon.

If fate _did_ in fact work in such ways, I wonder if the messenger was looking up to the moon as well.


	5. Anxious Expectations

CHAPTER 3

CALETHIEL

********************TWENTY YEARS LATER ************************

I nestled my back into my weeping willow. I fit easily, considering I had worn into its bark after sitting against it for the last twenty years. I lifted my head to face the moon, already with Gandalf's pipe between my lips. This, I had done every night, making it as much as a ritual as prayer to a religious man. Year after year I sat in my seat of dirt and every year was another struggle to fight the thought of Lorien from my mind. Some years were better than others of course, for the elven way of life hadn't amused me much but the moon had. I have been watching it faze into faze and each cycle filled the tiniest gap in my heart, but once the sun had arrived the next morn, my patched whole returned to its gapping form, but a smaller gap none the less.

I wonder why I had not admired it before, for it always looked so insipid as if someone had literally threw an ordinary rock upwards, and it had stuck to the sky like paste, it was just there. But, the moon was brighter now, and the brighter the moon grew the more dimness came upon my skin. Almost as if the moon had been draining my light, and stealing it for itself. I was content with it though, for the more dim I became, the less I reminded myself of my mother, or even an elven being for that matter. I was happy to share my light with the moon, if it meant he kept me off the edge of any ridge in Rivendell.

My mind was not completely captivated by the moon though; no, part of me still acknowledged the real world, and not just my silly infatuation with an orb in the night sky. I had reconnected (so to speak) with most elves in Rivendell, and I had even gained much skill in faking my enthusiasm. But, over the years I became more of a misfit than ever, transforming from immortal and losing my lothlorien light. None of the elves ever brought it up of course; I suppose they felt it was something they could not help with. And they were right. They could not help me. Even the effect of pipe weed began to dull on my pain, leaving me to be thankful for the moon.

And thankful for the moon I was.

I finished puffing on the soggy wooden pipe and stood up from my resting tree. For the sun had risen from the trenches of the earth's horizon, forcing light to seep through the branches, and me to leave the woods. I sighed at the morn and grimaced every time I passed through a patch of sunlight. As I entered through the forest, I found Elrond awaiting me. He stood as a fine and thin tree, tall and gracefully silent; and waited in the corridor between the courtyard and the starting of the woods, which aligned trees like soldiers, straightly strong across a short plain of grass. I rearranged my face from grimace to seriousness as I walked towards him, unfolding my arms and allowing them to swing gently at my sides.

"Come," he said strongly, beginning to walk away. The intensity of his voice made me pause. "We have matters to discus." he turned, looking over his shoulder, waiting for me to reach his side. I began my feet forward again, expediting my steps so I could reach his fast pace. Once inside I managed to catch his eye, so I bent my brows, making sure he was aware of my confusion.

I then eased my brows, lifting them with a sense of wonderment and tilted my head, trying to ask if he had current news of my cursed self without using words. He read my face like a holy man reads a bible, and instantly knew what I was questioning with my tilted neck.

"Not just yet." He said, confirming my suspicion. He had been secretly studying deeper into black magic, as well as keeping a good eye on Saruman. He still had not gathered enough evidence to accuse him, and I suppose we were not to accuse him, at least, not now. Saruman was someone we could not afford to accuse at the moment. For word had not long ago spread to Elrond of the rings return; If not news on my ailment, than our matter was most certainly about the ring.

Already knowing what the subject was, I hastily yet softly asked. "Was it Bilbo?" I suggested quietly, as we walked down one of Rivendells many open halls, which, instead of walls, was made up of copper colored vines that curved upward, making the ceiling looped, like a tunnel. But, unlike a tunnel light of the sun shone through, making everything well-ventilated, once again as if Rivendell had grew straight from the earth itself.

He nodded ever so slightly, and opened his mouth less than half way to speak, letting his words slip under his top lip. "Indeed it was," he paused, and then chuckled slightly, "which Gandalf dearly apologizes about. I smirked a bit and rolled my eyes out of playful endearment.

"So you have heard from him then." I said questioningly, suddenly enlightened to hear about Gandalf.

He nodded, "indeed I have. In fact, he asks quite a great deal about you, and he has even decided to go to Isengard himself concerning you, along with other matters. But that is something to discus later," he began, getting quieter and more subtle, "for the ring has been seen, and tis' no rumor for I can feel its power. It has already gained enough strength. But the old hobbit does not carry its burden now, for young Frodo has been given It." he murmured, making sure he looked strictly, yet casually, forward. I could hear the somewhat calm tension in his voice. It was enough to make me shudder.

I widened eyes widened slightly, and then I relaxed them, managing to regain discreteness of the matter. Frodo, what a little thing he was. I have never seen the fellow, but Gandalf always had stories of the tike. I trust the last time Gandalf saw him he barely reached his hip. "Frodo," I managed to gasp quietly. "Surely, Gandalf is with him, is he not?" I asked, moving my lips like Elrond, subtle and soft. For, if a Baggins still had the ring, Gandalf was surely in the mix of this brew; he had to be, Frodo was just young, and so very small. My jaw clenched as I imaged his infinitesimal bony body being dragged toward the black gates of Mordor by one of the nine.

"I know not." He said slightly disturbed. I assumed he had imagined the same thing as I. He kept his faced turned from me, increasing the secrecy of the conversation. I did the same. Matters such as these were meant to keep hushed, for no wandering eye could be trusted, even in Rivendell. "He has not delivered any news of Frodo or himself since the beginning of this month. Last I knew he had begun for Isengard. I do not fear the worst, but I cannot deny my worriment." He admitted, holding back a stressful sigh and pushing a strand of his long amber hair behind his long elven ear.

I nodded softly, for there was not much for me to do but nod. I could not go look for Gandalf, for if I left Rivendell I would surely die within a matter of days. I was not strong enough to climb a horse, for even that took the breath from me. I had learned to trust Gandalf with whatever he has in mind, making acceptance my only option.

"Then who have you sent for? We cannot leave Frodo like desert kill for vultures!" I said worriedly after a long pause of silence, trying to put strength into my voice that I knew I did not have. "They _will_ find him Elrond, you know it, and death will come to him faster than darkness reaches the depths of Mordor." I practically growled, clenching my teeth so hard I'm surprised they did not crack.

He shushed me, trying to calm me down. "Fret not, child, fret not. I have sent word to a man of trust worthy deeds, and he shall reach the Shire-ling at the Prancing Pony, if they are still lively enough to get there…" he said strongly and then shook his head. He turned to me, smiled, took my shoulders and shook me comfortingly. "The last thing we need have now is doubt." I stared into him and found myself frightened. For even doubt in Elrond I could see, in a man who knew nearly everything.

It was this exactly. This was the reason I could never rule my land. For I would have enough doubt to scare the eyes of one thousand elves.

"I must get well, and go back to Lorien, for I fear that is the reason of this ailment." I said convincing him as well as myself. An instant sickness came over me as soon as the name of my homeland left my lips. I pursed my lips and closed my eyes, trying to ignore it. On the other hand I also felt hectic. Like so much had to be done. Which, was frighteningly true, much did have to be done, but I was not in shape for any of it.

He shook his head. "Your people as well as mine are already leaving west; I had gotten word of it from your mother the morn of yesterday. If you are to be of any aid you will wait till your health restores, or at least till Gandalf arrives."

"Arrives?" I questioned, "What do you have planned?" my forehead began to sweat, I tried to cover up the wrenching feeling in my chest by squeezing my fists. Yet, Elrond noticed and handed me a pad clothe from his pocket and waited with me till I caught my breath.

"A council," he began explaining, "as soon as the ring is in Rivendell. I have called one representative for each elven land, one representative from each Dwarf land, and selective men. I have sent word to Gondor and Gandalf. Weather Gandalf shows or not, I expect them to arrive around the next blue moon."

"A council…" I repeated to myself, while nodding. I sighed, for my pain had gone as I pressed my mind for the moon. Its light absorbed my mind as if it were an empty glass. I straightened out my back and looked dead on into Elrond's eyes. "Before the month is out." I said, confirming of this meeting.

"If who I sent can arrive with the Half-ling in that time," He assured.

I nodded to him and we began onward again, nearing the end of one of the longest halls in Rivendell. "A man of trustworthy deeds, you said." I reminded him, hinting that I had an idea of who this man was. "Selective men…" I whispered again, this time assuring myself that it was indeed who I thought. "All that is gold does not glitter. Not all those who wander are lost. The old that is strong does not wither. Deep roots are not reached by the frost…" I recited, referring to Aragorn; Aragorn being rightful blood in deserving Gondor's thrown. He had grown up here in Rivendell, and I've met the man who had won Arwen's heart many a time.

I looked up at Elrond, and his face began to brew. And in that face moved uncertainty, and a measure of doubt, but all at the same time, a measure of hope. He smiled slightly, nodded his head once, and said "I trust him more than men of any other."

"She knows then." I whispered. I watched his brows flinch a bit as he opened his mouth. He then closed it again, leaving the subject to silence.


	6. Musky Book Pages

CHAPTER 6

CALETHIEL

We ended up in the library, where we found Arwen, reading a purple covered book on what looked like physics. Always reading, she was.

She politely closed the book, stood up from her chair, and sat it on the table beside her; all without making a sound.

"Good morning," she said, in a voice that could have won the hearts of one thousand men. We bowed to one another. That was another thing I disliked of my kind; they had always a need to bow.

"I shall leave you two to your studies." Elrond said, as he bowed and began away.

Arwen turned to me, and I was struck. She stood tall and long with dark hair that fell in large, wavy, ringlets which managed to reach below her elbows. I must admit I was slightly jealous of her beauty, as I was of all other elves, after the loss of my elven qualities and despite the sweet lack of authority it caused me. Though, even before my ailment I was not as beautiful as Arwen. For, no elf was. She was miraculous, more stunning then any elf in Rivendell; an exact facsimile of Luthien. She could reel the heart of anyone just with the fluttering of her eyes, which held a light brighter than Polaris and sweeter than the sun.

"Come with me, Calethiel?" She suggested with question, as she guided me to shelf of probably the oldest books in the room. The shelf neared the ceiling, towering over me making me feel insignificant against the amount of knowledge stocked on the rows that stood before me. I frowned a bit, it was a true sign the even this was not enough to satisfy my kin's hunger and need for knowing all that there was.

She picked up one that was already slightly pulled out and a bit less filthy than the rest that sat musty on the shelf, as if she had found interest in the book earlier. It was thick and broad, as if it had belonged to an ogre. But, she held it with such ease, making it seem less heavy than a sheet of letter paper. She dusted it off a bit with her left hand, before she handed it to me with her right. I took the book and nearly collapsed over myself.

"Do you know how the moon gets its light?" she asked, beginning to hold the book with me, realizing that I was too weak to hold the tome alone. I began to get extremely suspicious. She obviously found something of my curiousness about the moon, or better yet my obsession. She had an answer, to what I did not think had one.

"The sun, does it not?" I replied with interest. She flipped to a page that had a drawing of a moon in full detail, along with a poem in old Sindarin and on the page next to it, and an analysis of the poem. I squinted at the small, elongated writing.

"There is a legend," she started, "A… myth about your people." With my head still buried in the tome my brows began to pull together. "Your mothers light, about your immediate ancestors, Calethiel." She hinted. My eyes had stumbled over the words "ithil" which was the Sindarin word for moon, and "kalian" which meant take light.

"Saji jhol thys si kolol paes caedaes, eil saji air thas sai si shaer, thys tadi si molael mar kai, thylyrdol air thys si shaer." (take light from the grieving dear keeper, and take it far to the west, for cradle the sickened shall go, following it for the best.) I said, reading allowed the last stanza of the poem. I moved to pull a strand of hair behind my face, and out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of my dull, pale skin. I blinked a few times, bringing my arm closer to my face. I suppose I hadn't realized how much light I have lost. I felt my brows collide even further into one another with such force that the muscles tensed up, and I had to smooth out my forehead with my frail fingers, as Arwen took weight of the book

. My heart began to sink into my stomach. Essentially, I was getting duller, because the moon was increasing in light. I have heard of this curse long ago, in elder days. My father had warned me of it, and I remembered it to be the most terrifying words I have ever heard.

I was silent for a moment.

"Well, it is no legend my friend I assure you." I sighed. "It is true!" I whispered with a pitiful groan.

I whimpered, "I have heard of this before, long before." I shook my head, trying to calm my anger. I began to feel irate toward myself, for being so forgetful, then I realized this would have happened weather I remembered the legend or not. I could not help dying, and if I never would have found this out it would change nothing, but it still did not change the fact that this was a sign. I truly and definitely was dying.

"Do not lose faith in future, friend." She said, placing a hand on my shoulder. "A new is coming I can feel it, change is not far beyond our feet." She smiled, trying rather hard to please me with her grin.

I nodded my head, and laughed despite the amount of emotional stress that was now upon me. "You sound like Gandalf." I said to her.

She hummed a laugh of too and helped me carry the book to my room. After she left I sat on my bed, analyzing what I could of the Sindarin handwriting; for the pages were so old and faded that it was hard to read anything with my weary eyes.

I began to fiddle with Gandalf's pipe in my sac that I forever carried around my shoulder. I rolled it between my fingers, and then brought my hand close to my face, breathing deeply. His sent was dim, lost among the scent of musty book pages and fresh air. And, whether it had faded from the creases of the pipe or just the dulling of my senses I could not tell.

I replayed Arwen's words in my mind, which sounded much sweeter than it would have if I were to repeat them out loud. "Do not lose faith in future," she said. Future was so long term to me. I had trouble thinking of what tomorrow would bring and instead focused on illness, which was odd, because I was not like me to think so fully on myself. I suppose that was due to the death of my father. His death was anticipated rather than unexpected. I remember counting down the days till the war began and he would leave. Hope was so small to me after that, as well as my faith in theIlüvatar, or Eru as most called him.

As I thought, a recollection pushed to the front of my mind.

My father stood tall and strong by my door that morn before the battle, I remembered. His armor glistened from the sunlight in the frame of my window, and it sent bits of rainbow throughout my room. I remember staring at him for the longest time, in silence that would have ate the words of a thousand men. The quiet was so deep, and he was so beautiful. I took that last bit of silence to create a forever memory in my mind. The image is still perfect, the way he leaned against my door frame with his helmet in hand and a brave shine in his eyes.

"Ai jhyli o."(I love you) I said, running into his chest.

"Do not make this goodbye child," he said lifting my chin, "for this is only a parting of the moment." He smiled lightly.

And that was that. Four days later my mother and I received word of his death, along with many others of Lorien, and his cleaned blood ridden body in a casket made of glass.

I wrinkled my nose at the memory. One week of waiting, I thought to myself. One week to sit like a disabled man till I am at least an inch closer to undoing this curse. I sighed loudly, throwing the book onto the color, which took enough energy out of me to leave me lying on my bed for the rest of that day. I didn't even get up to watch the moon that night.


	7. Compelled to the Moon

CHAPTER 7

LEGOLAS

The wood was warm this evening. Even the trees began to sweat in the mist of the forest air. I had been watching the moon for most of this night; intently studying at its façade. It was but a half, but the fullest half moon than any I have yet seen in all my ages. Brilliant it was in light, for its brightness seeped through the branches of the tree I sat beneath, spotlighting patches of woodland debris with its illumination. How unusual this appealed to me. For noticing something so common was odd to my eyes. I have seen the moon too many a time that I could practically draw a map and parade around it as if my own home. But this moon, this moon was striking. And I wonder what has struck my heart into thinking and seeing so.

Perhaps it was not only I who had been so enthralled by this moon. I could not have been, for it was so miraculously bright; a nearly hauntingly type of attractiveness. I must not have been the only of my kindred to admire it so. My gaze became interrupted as my father stepped into my view, covering the moon like a cemented wall. I looked up at him, raising my brows. He nodded his head in hello and sat beside me, handing me one of the drinks in his hands. I returned my eyes to the bulbous evening sun.

"I have never seen it quite so." I said referring to the moon, trying to confirm if its beauty was sincere and not just in the mind. "So irrefutably brilliant, so threatening to the stars it is. Alas, the poor stars, the moon has taken their entire splendor away for itself." I sighed, taking a sip of what was in my withered cup.

"Indeed it is brighter" My father said while nodding. I did not even turn to him as he spoke, for the moon was much too attractive. It reeled my eyes in, as if drawing me to it like a moth to flame. "But," he started, "I fear it strikes my eyes not as strong. Tell me, what enlightens you so?" he asked. I pondered for a moment to myself, for if the moon had not appealed as much to my father then how did it lure me in so?

"I know not." I admitted. "I am now but a fly to its light, leaving my eyes dry against the open air. They will not shut." I said explaining, shaking my head but not budging my eyes from the midnight orb. How odd, that the moon were to swell in only my heart and not the hearts of others who gazed at it.

"Your enlightenment will reveal itself in time my son." he said slowly and endearingly, leaving me to watch the moon alone. And watch the moon alone is what I did. I watched it through the short hours of the night. I watched as the sun arose, peering over the lining edge of the earth.

Its light was bright enough to wake the dead.

I pulled myself from the ground with ease, only to reach a few steps toward the dining hall before my father stopped me with a grim face.

"What is it?" I asked in a voice deep as the roots of the old Ash tree in the middle of the dining hall as he placed his hand on my shoulder. He looked concerned, and very much into deep thought. He looked at my face intensely, studying it, almost as if his sapphire eyes were in some sort of trance. Odd that something could possibly weigh so heavily on my father's mind, where he should vent to me. I began to feel my face form with confusion.

"Elrond has called for a messenger." he began. I nodded my head ever so slightly, trying to ease the tension in my forehead.

"What am I to deliver?" I asked him, tilting my neck in order to gain the focus of his eyes. Not ever have I seen him so odd; at least, not recently.

"Yourself, my dear son," He said; his voice dripping in an elvenly form of resentment, that I usually had not seen in him. And without warning, I finally understood what he was telling me. It had struck me like the weight of the ocean as the tide pulls in. Though, despite the rush, acceptance was an easy thing for my heart to grow to. I nodded my head, showing him understood.

Elrond had warned us long before of this. He had called forth a meeting, near a century ago, confirming that if the Ring was found he would hold a meeting. It was decided that I, the Prince of Mirkwood, would be the one to attend from my realm, as would Haldir, a March warden of Lothlorien, and several other lieges of elven lands and that of dwarf and mortal realms.

"Ah," I began with a smile, for he dealt best with a happy heart. "Why such fret Father? It's as if you'd been struck with shock." I chuckled a bit, making my best to ease his tension. He had not a reason to be so distraught. Of course this _was_ indeed a matter we all knew would come, the age of Elves was ending, and the ring was said to be found. "Let me assure you, I was and still am completely content with attending his council and serving him. If that is to be my fate, than I shall not fight it. For it would be a matter of folly if I did." I patted him on the side of his arm. Yet, he gained no comfort in his face.

He nodded, as his eyes finally reaching mine. "Far from foolish you are my son," he said with a not-so-sincere smile. I accepted his attempt. "You are to ride by the mid of night and reach there by morning." He told me with the least amount of emotion he could handle, yet, with so much concern in the pit of his irises.

I nodded. "Do not be so troubled, I am content father." I said with a smile, and placing my hands on both of his shoulders. "What is to be must be, and if I am to serve in a sort of war, then you have my care and thought. I cannot promise to end up west, but I can assure you, I will try." I smiled at him. And he smiled back, this time sincerely and hardily. "Now," I began, leading him down the woodened arched hall to the dining room. "Let us enjoy the earth and air as you join me in breakfast." I said hardily. There was no use in crying over fate unless you could change it.

After filling ourselves with Lembas bread in the hall, I took the liberty of treating myself to the woods as I did every afternoon. For the forest was my home, and admitted, we have industrialized some of it, but as for most of the earth we have lived in, it was untouched. I suppose it was our function to do so. For my father formed our society of elves to be residents with the trees; to live among grass and dirt and wood, and breathe the untainted air and be devoted to our land. For instance most halls and homes had no roofs but the trees itself. They gave us enough shelter to keep dry from any rain or snow. We needed no such thing as castles or kingdoms.

I took my bow from my back and bent an arrow into it, practicing my shooting. A glimpse of the sun had caught the corner of my eye, and instantly, I relaxed my arms with my bent bow still in hand. I brought my face to the orb of light that could blind all the men of Middle Earth, allowing its light to trickle over my immortal eyes like water in the darkness of shade that all but my face was covered in. I began away out into a clearing just beyond the branches that grew in my sights way.

Placing my bow and arrow back into the leather quiver that slung around my back and shoulder, I sighed at the morning star. Longing for the cold white moon, longing for its hypnotizing, eye piercing beauty, which captivated me, and held my heart like that of a caged bird. I sighed long and hard. My distressed let go of air was followed by what I was sure was my father's light hand on the back of my shoulder.

"I long to see it so," I began, not bothering to turn around; for I was convinced it was him. His sent was strong of pine and oak, as was the rest of my kin's sent, but his had a trail of musky river mud. For walking by the Enchanted river was something he took to nearly every morn, after the leave of my mother to the west.

"I believe I have found the answer to the moons new glow, Legolas." he began in an interesting tone, as he moved, staring at the sun as well, by my side right side. "'Tis said that when the moon has a clarity more protruding and brilliant than a flame, and more hauntingly attractive than the sun, it is an elf of Noldor, of the house of Finarfin's light that is being drawn from their very skin, and being taken to the west until the bearer of the light loses all qualities of immortality." he moved his hands upward, manipulating the moons shape, and outlining it with his fingers. "Until they are frail enough to leave…." his voice began to trail off, as he slightly cocked his head at the moon. He picked up his strong voice again, yet this time with more emotion. His sound seeped into my ears, squeezing through my drums thickly, like summer mud. "The light then stays there, in the Grey Heavens, illuminating the way for new arrivals, from other elven kinds, to join those who have long passed there." He took a deep breath at the end of his explanation, while he brought his hands back to his sides.

It was silent for a moment. I knew not how to respond, if this was the light of another elf, for what reason was I the only one of my kin attracted to it? I slightly turned myself towards him, yet I found it hard to turn my neck from the sky, for fear that the day would quickly fade, and in place of the sun would be the white glow, that of the moon. "Why such fate?" I asked with a new sound of interest in my throat, finally managing to face him completely.

"Of course, their light was a gift of god, my son, as were the eyes of the Exiles of Gondolin, elves of Lindon. And like any gift, if abused, god shall take the light away. For those of grief do not deserve such beauties. I suppose it is a harsh fate, but 'tis one that puts them out whatever misery they are filled full of." The emotion he spoke with was odd, his words seemed drawn out, and thought well upon before leaving his tongue. My brows became one, as I thought in the silence of the surrounding trees of my woodland home, which I would soon be parting with.

"Are we ourselves gifts then?" I began. My brows disjoined as I heard a small chuckle brew from my father's chest.

"Considering the creation of man, I suppose so." He said with a smirk as he gazed back into the sun. He shook his head slightly, "Yes my son, our stay has been long overdue."

I peered into the sun myself, imagining the Grey Heavens. I suppose that is what my father was picturing as well. Its light was brighter and more comforting than any morning star, and its warmth drew my kin in like hooked fish, laying a trance of tranquility over us.

My father was ready to leave Middle-Earth for as far as I could sense. He longed my mother, and longed for the compelling warmth of the west, that I have yet to feel.

"When shall you lead them?" I asked, returning my face to his.

"I shall take them into the west by the end of this half year." He said in a serious voice, which he added a slight nod of his head to.

I nodded along with him, tightening my jaw in response. I suppose we both had journeys ahead of our feet.

He left me after that, for the rest of that afternoon, to shoot a feathered arrow up in the air, and catching it, as it fell back down from the sky, to my arms reach, waiting for night to fall. For nightfall, is where my journey would begin.


	8. Last view of the Rotting Arched Bridge

CHAPTER 8 (7 CONTINUED)

LEGOLAS

Days are small; short in the eyes of my kin, and my afternoon fell quick, into the horizon, rained over in the darkest dusk yet of this month, being that the moon had abandoned the sky this night.

"I suppose the stars are no longer threatened." My father said, in a hollowed voice, once again showing the slightest taste of grief. He had been helping me gather for my ride to Rivendell on the Mirkwood Bridge, which arched pale wood over a long ditch; stretching nearly half way across the entrance of Mirkwood… we have been packing since the fall of the sun.

I nodded my head in response, keeping my chin above my neck, in order to face the blackened sky, which was lit in only few scattered spots; as if the stars were holes, and the blackness but a phase of gloomy paint over what was once blue and bright. I have never realized how unappealing the sky was, when without the moon.

"Alas, let them have their grandeur, by tomorrow's night shall they lose their fame once more." I said, while resting my quiver to hang upon the vine railing of the bridge in order to free my hands and tie my sac around my horse's saddle.

He chuckled lightly, "you seem bitter about the moon's absence," he patted my back. His pat was odd though; rather slow, and gentle. I suppose it was in relevance to his grieving demeanor.

"Indeed I am," I said, chuckling in the slightest bit of elvenly embarrassment and ending it with a sigh. "If I have not made my obsession flagrant yet, then I apologize." I said, with little emotion spewing from my lips.

"It frustrates you." He said, while tightening the rigging ring around my horse's saddle.

I nodded in response, tightening the strap on the other side. "It lacks great sense in me, father." I said with a shake of my head, allowing my blonde hair, now darkened by a black sky, to flow around my sides.

"Perhaps 'tis the light of a woman," he chuckled, I chortled along with him. Our sound was nearly the same, both in likeness of vigor and depth, though, his was hardier, and mine, greatly smoother, like that of a palm stone.

"Though I doubt it, it would have more sense than the none it has at the moment, would it not?" I asked drolly. He nodded, and like mine, his tainted blonde hair when jiggling about him as well. And in the dark, on the small bridge of Mirkwood, grew the sound of silence upon us. I looked at him once more, and then my home. Each tree stood straight in the dark, only outlined by what light the stars could bring to the black satin earth. Alas, the last glances upon my home were to be dark. I returned my eyes to my father, who handed me two white knife daggers to place in two sheaths I had tied around my waist.

I turned my face to my father after pulling my quiver around my shoulder and back. He stood tall, but somewhat broken, looking into me as if he could see my heart. And after seeing it, he smiled greatly, stretching his light lips across the perfect teeth that hid beneath them.

I smirked myself, as he placed his hand firmly on my shoulder. "thol eilyl modi si shol tia myl, eil cydi air tasor o cysti." (Fight alongside the wind my son, and hope it carries you home.) He said softly.

"ai baer byr shol sai kedi ti sai tia vaedi." (I need not wind to guide me to my people.) I assured him, with the strongest and proudest tone I had used through the day.

And with that, and one last pat from my father, I left the tall trees that were only outlined by the small, incompetent stars. I left the babbling brook by which my father always walked. I left my people and the large ash tree in the dining hall. I left it all, on a shadowed horse with silver hoofs. And though, when and if I were to return my kin would diminish into the west, the air was still with me, as well as the moon.


	9. Morning to a Drawnout Day

CHAPTER 9

CALETHIEL

I managed to squint as the sun fell over my sapped eyes, layering them like jagged glass. My room was cold, for my body now began to feel the bitter wind of October, and along with the brusque autumn air, I smelled the faint breath of pipe weed. How odd, for the last time I had been subject to it the night before, under my willow, and with my nearly mortal nose, scents no longer linger.

I bobbed my head above my chest, trying to catch the smell again, and at the foot of my bed sat a withered man much larger than I, hunched over himself on a long silver chair, which usually sat dustily in the hall.

Clad in a long, grey, cloak, he was; which was very much darkened by dirt. His face grew sweet in familiarity by the dim eyes which lay shadowed over by the bush of brows sprouting from his forehead along with his ears, which were hidden in the same white hair that hung from his scalp; and what lay humbly on top: a large, pointed hat. He was lightly toking on my long wooden pipe, barely making over it with his thin lips. Yet judging by the wise intensity of his wrinkles and the point in his hat, the man was not a man at all; but a wizard.

I knew this wizard, and the staff that sat beside him. And with that amount of knowledge alone, I felt the realization build from my eyes to my mouth, bringing a smile about my teeth.

"Elves do not sleep, you know." He murmured, referring to my resting, while removing the pipe from his frail lips, which looked like they had spoken many harsh words in the last month or so. His voice was neither the same; still comforting and soft it was, but now with a slight mention of urgency.

I opened my mouth several times before I could reply to him; not knowing of what to start with, for his arrival meant so much: the day of Elrond's council, the arrival of the ring, and the company of my kin. And, because of that, a decent amount of pain in me died out, and a fragment of the calm focus that I was usually reckoned with, quietly stormed through me.

"Then I suppose I am no longer," I started, in a faint voice, I which I grimaced at. I lifted myself fully to face him, and with doing so I winced at the sound of the crack and rust of my bones.

He sat with a grim face, as we stared at one another. Failing to keep his seriousness, a light chuckle began from the stretched, wrinkled skin, which could hardly be considered lips. Yet, I smiled at him, and laughed hardily along. "Gandalf!" I forced through one of my giggles, as we reached our arms around one another. He sent filled my mind like a sweet memory. I had not grown so happy in days.

"What news friend?" I said, standing myself upright from my bed after our embrace, he quickly stood too, in order to help me walk with him down to the dining hall.

"Ay, always quick for answers." He said, chuckling once more with the pipe still in hand, as we moved from my chilled room. Yet, it was only partly true. For I was rather patient, until it came to Gandalf. "You look well, at least better than I had expected." He mumbled through the pipe which now stuck stiffly from his mouth.

"You have not the heart to tell me…" I muttered, trailing off, for I was well aware of my state. I felt a strong chill run through my fingers, odd, that we were in a hall without windows. The chill itself was odd as well, for it stung like the chatter of bones from the overstay in bitter water. The chill came upon me once more, this time, struggling through me, from my fingertips to my each joint of my spine, into the back of my neck, where I was forced to shudder. It felt above all else like the uncertainty of bitter darkness; Pure evil. That is when I decided, 'twas not the eager October air paining me, but the feel of the ring.

Now, with realization, I could smell the change in the air, despite my dull senses. For, I could feel it now, its presence leaching into my skin. "It is here," I choked. "I can feel it. It has ridden my bones like a disease; we are drawing near as well. Frodo, he is near." I spat from my mouth with no amount of grace upon my lips. I had not taken into consideration how I would react to its appearance. Its weight hit me like a hard wind.

"Ay," he began in a voice of such seriousness that his bottom lip but lightly curled under his thin top as he tightened his jaw. "The air has changed, and the ring; awoken. The eye sees it I fear, lying just about Frodo's neck."

My jaw let loose, leaving itself to hang dumbly about my face, leaving but a small gap between my diseased lips. "And he has not succumbed to it?" I managed to garble the scrapped words.

"Not in the slightest. Or at least, he has not shown signs of falling to it." He said simply through the pipe, yet with a measure of weight in his voice. Gandalf sighed in haste, and shook his head. "Though, the nine had already gotten to him. Stabbed he was, with a Morgul Blade." By the ease of his words I trusted that Elrond had gotten to Frodo in time.

Gandalf sighed, "The ring cannot stay here in Rivendell. Elrond holds a council this afternoon, I fear, Calethiel, that no one will dare take on the ring…" Gandalf said this nearly as a plea. His wise eyes had settled once again settled into the fear I had seen in him this morning.

"You do not know surely Friend." I said, comforting him. "Unless, you have foreseen it…" I uttered.

His thin lips did not part, and he kept silent, burrowing his eyes deeper behind his brows. I began to count the creases in his lips. I had gotten up to twenty-seven before he spread them, diverging from the middle, outward.

"I trust you have more questions." He broke; his voice even deeper than originally.

I nodded, allowing him to dismiss the matter of Frodo for the moment. "Saruman," I began with a grim voice myself, "_I trust_ it is he you have spoken harsh words to." I paused for a moment, as his brows began to deepen. "The creases in your lips are not quiet dear friend." I finished, pressing my lips together in anxiousness for a response.

The last I saw Saruman was during this past summer, which was vividly recent. Gandalf and I had spent every day as a lesson among his unfailing tower and trees of Fangorn, teaching me the wizardry of healing and psychology; things I was to learn from my kin in Lorien, but, considering my choice of exile, never have. Saruman, was taller than Gandalf, and more swift. Yet, humble, he was not, or at least, judging from memory, I cannot remember him humble. He had the smile of a snake, and yet the lips of a saint. His character was always on the fence with me, as I never allowed myself to have a conversation with him alone, other than when he taught me telekinesis, which I still have not mastered.

His jaw released and he talked as if he had been holding in air for too long. "He has fallen to Suaron." He stated briefly, "using the power of the pinnacle of Orthanc to help him see what hides from the eye."

My jaw tightened, as well as my lids and brows. Though, there was no reason for my well enlightened mood of the moment to drop considering I was sure of Saruman's deeds already, my heart seemed to thud into my stomach.

"I have spoken with Elrond," he began again, "and we have come to the agreement that your ailment is a diversion of Saruman's." Gandalf admitted shakily. I assumed that his heart had thudded into his stomach long before this pass month.

"Trust me friend, I had no doubt of that. He has always been there, lurking in the back of my mind. I can feel his intentions. Yet, of what diversion I am, I fear, I cannot sort out why he wishes me not to return to Lothlorien." The words rolled from my mouth smoother than I had expected, as we reached the dining room. Odd, it felt, as if a sudden motivation surged into me, but I shrugged it from my mind.

"I must return to Elrond," Began Gandalf, handing me his finished pipe, and a wrinkled bag of farthing weed. I nodded and thanked him. Gandalf leaned into my ear, and whispered, "Be sentient of Haldir." He mumbled, and with that, he hobbled his way down the long hall of the dining room.


	10. Chessboard Tiles

CHAPTER 10

CALETHIEL

Lonely I stood, with pipe and weed in my brittle hand, merely a chess piece to checkered gold and green diamond tiles of the front dining hall which seemed to stretched further from my eyes as I studied Gandalf totter, like he does, till the tip of his pointed hat turned corner. It was then, when his sight had stretched too far, that I took notice of the mass hysteria coming from the dining room behind me. Gandalf's words seeped in, staining my brain like an instinctive memory, and I dare not turn one inch toward the gathering of races. It was not a matter of knowing what or who was in there, for I knew that much: Selective men, Dwarfs of all kind, and Elves of every Realm, all feasting for breakfast at Elrond's wish before the council. The matter was that if out of all my kind, Haldir indeed did show, and no doubts in my heart lead me to believe that he would not, he surely lurked not far off.

It was also a matter that I should have thought earlier about, though, if I am persuaded of one thing; it is that time was unfeasible to work backwards.

An overwhelming reaction came to my feet, and as heavy as they were, I put them in quick motion, lugging them too slowly to outrun the pace at which grew my shame-filled anxiety. Yet, for the split moment I glistened my eyes, a batter came to each of my thighs and below.

The pain shot up quickly, springing to every joint, forcing me to succumb to my knees and fall over in an ache that froze me. Allowing my face to quickly meet the chess-like tiles, rattling my jaw like a child's toy.

As the ringing left my ears, I tried to come back to my feet. Yet, the effort was futile and I threw my head back with a sighing groan. The clatter of four small feet hurried towards me from short distance, along with four arms to help me stand upright.

Their hands felt like those of a child's: innocently small.

"Sorry!" they both said in the same breath, with a brogue that sounded like outlanders.

Then the bickering began.

"Look what you did Pip! You've done knocked her lady over!" a voice with sounded rather boyish, yet old and slightly wise accused.

"Me? I believe _you_ walloped into her Merry!" the other protested, aiming to gain the slightest depth of innocence. His voice, being slightly more vivacious and extremely foolish, nearly caused me to giggle at the sound. It was pleasurable.

For as small as their hands were, they were surely hobbits. Yet, neither of the creatures had I deemed to be Frodo, for the weighty tension of the ring was but far off. I shook my eyes open, and watched them quarrel in awe. For it was but my second time seeing a hobbit, and this time two. They looked as if they were brothers, perhaps cousins. Both with shaggy tendrils of red boyish hair, and each stood just above my hips. Yet, despite their childish features, they were grown. The two were certainly above the age of forty.

It was nearly odd to me, as they stood there wrangling with their foolish yet amusing tongues, that god would even make such a creature. For they served such little purpose, bearing in mind they were considered foolish, yet humble, lazy and ate in worth of an ogre. Their only ostensibly redeeming quality was that they had a love for everything that grew, making them brilliant famers. Yet, what purpose did they serve in order to live among Elves, Men and Dwarfs?

Elves, being Middle Earths first creation, were initially meant to be the only. We served every purpose, point, reason, and principal thatEru Ilúvatar had intended. Yet, we took too much pride in our beauty and knowledge and need for both matters. The strong power we once were reckoned with could never be more. We had become rustic folk of dell and cave, fading, diminishing into the west, leaving God to create men, God being Men's Eru, who I had grown a new faith in, losing the faith in the Elven religion. Men, who were so flawed, so plain, lacking in beauty, yet, swelling with greed, desire, and mortality, were even more so fit to rule and inhabit Middle Earth than my kind.

…and I detested my kin and being part of my kin for such reasons, hence my departure from my people and kingdom. I, Calethiel, Daughter of light, heir to the Lothloriens throne, had run away, or at least attempted, from all aspects of Elven life.

I must have only awed for around fifty seconds before my initial fear and need to cower and swathe beneath a depth of blackness seeped back into my feet. I was willing to burry myself before I would allow Haldir to see me, or find me for that matter. Undoubtedly, he was looking.

Without word, I brought my feet back into motion, and stretched down the chess tiles, which all seemed to merge and melt into a solid moss color as I ran. I bothered not to look back at the two hobbits, whose names I had caught were Pippin and Merry. Yet, I did hear the more foolish one ask the other: "wonder what she's runnin' to" and the rather linguistic add: "or from."


	11. Similar Humilities

CHAPTER 11

CALETHIEL

As I ran, my weight seemed to grow. Each leg became nearly impossible to pick up, and my knees began to buckle like the rotting of an old vacant bridge in a land where inhabitants occurred. How outlandish I must seem. How folly I must look to any who bare eyes.

It was blatant that I indeed looked mortal, or perhaps worse for that matter. For the hobbits treated me as a commoner, rather than a high Elven priestess of a foreground of the Elven lands.

I sighed to myself as I quit my running.

For the amount of respect I would typically get if I looked myself, I deserved none, and although I felt ghastly dismayed about my physical state, about my slow death, I somewhat enjoyed the authority I have lost.

I slowed my pace as I neared the Round. The Round was a peculiar part of Rivendell, arching with a domed ceiling, which sky lighted. It was also was home to the sword of King Elendil of the Dúnedain. Narsil was its proper name. The brilliant pieces Telchar of Nogrod's work lay shattered in the cold, stone-carved hands of Isildur, forever shining in light from the sky. I spent a great deal time in this room in all my years of in Rivendell. I tended to lurk near it. It was as close as I could get to my father as possible, for that sword had fought, and died in the same war. Yet, I was not the only who was drawn toward this place. Aragorn, who was heir to that sword, made it his usual haunting ground whenever he was in the land of Rivendell. I have collided with the man many a time in the Round, and when I did, we both shared the same shame with a welcoming smile that we would never admit aloud.

I lowered my panting, as well as my steps. Yet, as I made my way but half of the Round, I heard a familiar voice, as an arm guided me towards another direction.

The voice was thick, melting with a slight nasal-ness along with a slight roll in his R's and a tension in his I's. It was the way a man's voice should sound, yet, due to greed, follies, and a lack of time for experience, many did not.

"I would not go that way Calethiel Adlanniel of Lothlorien." The voice whispered, as he lightly tugged me along down a branching hallway off the Round. His hand felt warm on the back of my ghostly forearm. However, despite the warmth, they were rough, like the coarse bark of bitter oaks, which I am no stranger of; for I have met many wild oaks in the expansion of my years, as well as I have met and welcomed these hands.

"He is near…" I stated, whispering in a voice as hoarse as his hands. It was also a voice of shear mortification, which I could barely come to terms with. I had lost my sense of presence. I had lost all feeling that recognized the distant air between two bodies, of which identifies energy… the feeling so common among all beings.

"You would have sauntered right into him." He murmured, as we headed out an ached corridor, mad up but two pillars, which opened to the courtyard. Yet, we passed the courtyard and drew further into the trees. Once he felt we were far enough out of sight, he sat down, sticking himself to the ground. But, I did not follow. I stood, for if I lowered my legs, or even dare bend them, I would not have the strength to get up.

"It is pathetic." I said with angst, and through that angst began a laugh hardily full of self-loathing. "Though, that is needless to state." I gave him the same the same shame-filled smile as I have done many times before and he nodded in complete understanding.

He was quiet for a long moment as he picked dirt from his coarse fingers. His face was rugged, and beautifully rugged at that. I could understand why Arwen had fell focus to him. He had unshaven cheeks and chin, and his hair grew greasily from his pale scalp, which you could catch glimpses of from the straight part in the middle. Nevertheless, what truly made him notable were his blue eyes. Small they were, but vivid and intense, nearly Elvenly…a humble Elvenly.

"In due course, you will face your kin." He finally said, after spitting a thorn he had picked from his finger with his teeth to the side of him, as I leaned myself up against a nearby tree.

"And in due course, Aragorn Estel of the Dúnedain, heir to Gondor's thrown, you will face yours." I said slowly, slightly dazed by a small birch that seemed to grow very oddly, nearly spiraling towards the ground. "And again, you could say the same to me. Again, I could say the same to you. And we could sit, in ongoing rotation." I sighed. "But that would be folly." I said bringing my attention back to him.

"Why do you stand?" he asked, at last. I figured he would not let my difference go, considering I have known the man his whole life: ever since his mother had brought him to Rivendell, which was around the same I had decided to leave my people.

I sighed, again, but this time more disgracefully. "For fear of not reaching back to my feet." I began. He looked at me intensely, staring at my mouth as my faint, dry, lips moved.

"It is not like you to sigh." He stated confusedly, standing up, making an equal of me. "Nor is it like you to bleat." He mentioned, with a raise of his brows. "Tell me Adlanniel, where has she run off to?" He asked, referring to myself. For Aragorn had known me almost as well as Gandalf, and enough so to realize my former self had disappeared, and I had made little attempt at getting her back.

I mused over this question in the bit of silence between his words. The change in me was blatant, and it drew in more hurt that I could convalescence to my former self. "I have been reluctant in finding her, Estel. For whenever I think of such life, it brings thought of my kin." The word "kin" left my mouth precariously, and a cold sweat broke on the back of my arms and hands. It also brought me back to when Aragorn called me by my full name, Calethiel Adlanniel of Lothlorien, which caused the feeling of cold sweat beading on my stomach.

I watched, as Aragorn neared me. "Ah, you are ill." He empathized, knowing that if he tried to help me I would decline. I was always very stubborn in that manner, despite ailment.

"It will pass." I croaked, as I tried hard to focus on the buckled and spiraled birch tree considering the sun now overthrew the moon, which I usually relied on during such times.

As the sweat left my skin, I whipped my brow, feeling somewhat relieved.

"Yet, you also are reluctant in telling me the cause." He stated, still standing close enough to assist me if I needed.

Though, it was true. I was averse. For if, I even tried to speak the words of my curse or even the chant for that matter, which was:

Saji jhol thys si kolol paes caedaes,

eil saji air thas sai si shaer,

thys tadi si molael mar kai,

thylyrdol air thys si shaer.

(take light from the grieving dear keeper,

and take it far to the west,

for cradle the sickened shall go,

following it for the best.)

I would surely fall unconscious on the floor of the woodland ground.

"It is a story for a better time, friend." I admitted, gathering myself to lean from the tree and stand upright.

"I see." He said, again empathizing. I nodded in response, and in that silence of my nod, I watched Aragorn shiver.

"So you feel it as well," I said, referring to the ring, which I had recently shivered at also. "It is nearer here than the dining hall. Perhaps not far off either." I said. I was quite relieved that I could still detect the distance of air and energy between the rings of power and myself. Though, being that I lived with the bearers of two (being my mother and Gandalf,) and practically with the barer of the other (Elrond), it was nearly impossible for me to lose that instinct.

Yet, the feel of this ring was more intense, but only to those who knew its power. The feeling was devious and quite sly in that sense.

"I have felt it for months on end now," he said bleakly. I nodded.

"Have you felt her yet?" I asked, referring to Arwen, and changing the subject. But he did not have time to answer, nor would he have even if we were not interrupted.

The rustling sound from the leaves towards the entrance indicated that whoever was coming was struggling.

"When I said be sentient, I did not mean make it so I could not find you!" the struggling wizard preached. I laughed at the old man in a leisurely way.

"My apologies Gandalf," Aragorn admitted with a humble laugh himself. We were all at ease, even I, at the moment. For it felt comforting to be in the presence of people who had all know the other for the birth of a zillion maples, ferns, and oaks.

"Where has he gone off to?" I asked nearly impatiently, but repaired my tone with a clearing of my dry throat at the end; for there was no use in being baffled with Gandalf, at least not when you have patients.

"In the dining room he is, now, come, out of the woods with you." I laughed again at the old wizard's playful ferocity, as all three of us headed from the woods, where I found that the sun had fully risen… and I had yet a great deal to mull over, as well as do.


	12. Compulsive Desires

CHAPTER 12

LEGOLAS

The sun bobbed from the trenches of the clearing night sky. T'was a routine so worn to my eyes, as was the rise and fall of the moon. Yet the attraction was not there with the sun. For it was an object I did not take to. Which made the moon all the more baffling to my mind.

Yet there was a shake to my bones; a stillness and stir in my jaw. The feeling of ancient times had made flight in my mind, and nearly disclosing from the image of my moon; swallowing it in a memory of bitterness and dark days. T'was the ring; and a dense taste in my jaw it put; an overall solemn feeling, one I felt would linger far longer than need be.

And, yet, duty is duty, even if a dense task.

I road easily over the cobblestone bridge, that led in to a forever fall of Rivendell. A home to kin I had ridden to, many a time. Its silver gates left open, in assumption to allow in other members of the council. Yet, I soon found that the Council must had been kept an undisclosed matter from those Elrond did not directly mention it to years prior; bearing in mind that Rivendell was teeming, of all races: dwarfs stood among elves, and elves stood among men, and too many at that. It was blatant this was a diversion to keep the council of the ring clandestine by merging it with a great feast.

There were so many, I had even caught the slightest glimpse of what I thought was a few hobbits. Though, convinced my eyes were well used to night, the suspicion that they were playing tricks on my wits settled easily in my mind. For one hobbit would not have been anomalous, being that Bilbo was the only hobbit to know of its possession as well as posses the ring itself. Yet two hobbits, was a matter I failed to see involved.

I tied my horse in the front stable, along with every other, and ventured my way through the mass hysteria of welcomes and good wishes; something I had been part of before. Positive that I had glinting smile to my eyes, I searched for a familiar face from afar. Moreover, as my luck, I spotted a nominal hint of the ranger, crossing the corridor of the Dining room that I have spent many a year in. His hair but barely moved from his head as he pushed forward with his feet, as it was stuck with the bit of grease and dirt he had it clad in, and he bared the name of Aragorn, son of Arathorn.

Aragorn, being a great alliance to my people and I, was also my dear friend since the forth age, when Aragorn had brought my father Gollum. Yet, the ranger had ranged far from my glance for many a decade since.

Swiftly, I weaved myself among Dwarfs and Elves, dodging all masses but one.

He was a stagnantly short fellow, barely seeming to move from under my way and feet. A humorous looking brute; standing at my hip, yet twice as wide, he had but three small pieces of dirt in the flame-like beard that covered near the whole of his scrunch face. It was odd; for there was a royal tint to his wear that his face certainly did not own up-to. For the flame-like beard was uneven, seeming to have been resting near flame itself, and the heat embers had latched to it, curling each strand upward in waxy conduct. I could almost smell the scalded strands that stuck from his face.

And I had nearly stepped on the creature.

I waved an apologetic hand with the debonair glint still in my eyes, before continuing my course onward. Yet, I had gained three steps ahead before a chuckle brewed lightly from the heaves of my chest. He had muffled the words "Mulg Olv," into his waxy beard, being Dwarvish for "stupid elf."

I had seen a fair kinship between the Dwarves and my own. Yet I have not known to what extent. Dwarves are bestial as the mountains called Misty above the Mines of Moria, Khazad-dum. Which, surprised me not, they lived beneath.

I had reached just but inches from the Aragorn's back blade which seemed to radiate mortality. Moreover, not only was his sight blatant, but his scent grew firmly in my breath, thickening itself around my teeth. It was the scent of sodden skin; the type when a man had swayed in dirt and dust in degrees that would boil a bird. Yet I hinted the slight attempt of a bath upon him, and I smiled at his endeavor.

My hand at last made his shoulder, and his skin seemed to deepen with the lightest print of my palm: a surveillance only and keen eyes could witness. He spun, in direction of my touch to face me, turning from shoulder to shoulder. His motions were slow to me; his body was well relaxed this morning. Yet, perhaps his mind was not near in mellowness or like.

His eyes seemed tired and willing, as I assumed he had already dealt with the ring during the past few moons. Yet, he did not touch it, for I could feel no evil on him.

For his involvement in the ring now meant change. I could feel it in his eyes, as well as the air about those eyes, and the change was not bitter. For the sun was the exact dawn of the new many of my kin had waited long in the shadows of such linger.

"Long have I graced myself with your presence, Dúnedain." I beamed endearingly.

"Legolas!" he said, stressing my name at each syllable with a hardy tune. I chuckled at his kin-ly salutation. He pulled me in by the shoulders, and embraced me with brotherly arms, and again, despite the strength round his bones, my body pressed into his, leaving his chest slightly condensed, as if he were a mud man.

Now closer, the sun had kissed his skin well. For despite the gruff his skin could blaze, shine, with the bit of greased sweat that beaded by his brows. Which, were grooved in a forever-understanding slant; he held much pity in himself as well as the welfare of others. And though his sent was as musk and mud, I had tasted something other, something unlike to musk and mud or that of death, and it neared my compulsion of desire. Yet not only had I breathed it among him, but in the bristles in the green throw rug, and the creases and cracks in the walls, which had suffered through much dust. The sent had hauled my mind by rope and leash to reminiscences of the moon. For they were in such relation, such compulsion, such attraction, I nigh on salivated. If there were a sent for such celestial things, they would be adjoined.

This sent was stronger than any death of any entity; burlier than any evil I have ever tasted in my every seedily eras. What oddities have consumed my mind?

"When did you arrive?" Aragorn hummed in a western tone, of which he has always acquired. It was the ranger in him, and his ranger breath had mingled with the scent of moonshine, along with Elvish bread, Dwarvish mining dirt, and mortal skin. It was simple to impede certain scents, and from teachings of avoiding desire, I found it plausible to hinder the moon-like aroma.

"Just as the sun" I replied, though I found it unenlightening, for my breaths inward lacked the compulsive smell. Yet, its taste: still in my thoughts, as if it had stained the rims of my teeth.

Why was the moon hounding me?

What was this new lasso that I failed to loosen from the round of my stomach?

"Well come, then, eat before the hobbits eat all." I smirked, with a short and comical roll of his eyes. I smirked myself. Hobbits were involved.

"Ah, so I did see the likes of such." I chuckled. "Indeed I though the night had wooed my eyes."

"There are four of them. I had lugged them all the way from Breeland." He mumbled heroically, even though he had not the means to. He was, on his own, without words or denote, valiant; weather he liked it, feared it, or

"You look awry. I trust trouble on the way?" I hinted as we entered the hall, again dodging through the likeness of bodies.

"Much, but none of which I should speak of now, for even these holy walls are of little shelter." He nearly whispered. Yet no whisper of his was light to me, despite the lightness t'was to others.

Moreover, there it was once more as we entered the large dining hall: I felt the change in him, as well as the air, again, and this time I felt a darkness, of which I could sense a beginning brew, along with the desirable scent that penetrated my hindering.


	13. Scents on Sodden Tongues

CHAPTER 13

LEGOLAS

The dining hall was teeming as well; an overflow of races bundled amongst wooden stands of foods and dink with many a chair. Few men there were, yet those were the few of which I could not stir my eyes from. Those few were to rule. The day soon approaches where Elvin kingdoms will be lost among woodland rubbish of which they must look after. The time of men, rustled not far beyond our feet, and a time of war even closer.

Following his fragile feet, which seemed eager and anxious despite their ease, I followed Aragorn to one of the teaming tables, glazed in the scent of many. I watched him feast, for I had no appetite with such scents on my mind: I wished to savor the moon while I could not see but sun and cloud.

"How many others?" I questioned, referring to the council in a voice only his mortal ears could reach, while crossing my arms in an Elvenly comportment.

Yet before he could answer, my thought was broken by an appended scent. The smell of herb entered the vast arrangement of quibbles and squawks belonging to Dwarven language from the far of my left. It was that of a certain wizard and I had recognized his hobble and hat, squeezing and mumbling through the disarrayed creatures. T'was Herb of the west farthing, Shire herb. For I know of the wizard who roams there from time to time. It was he who had fought alongside towering trees of the forefront to my home; just beyond the tattered bridge.

"Gandalf Greyhame," I said with a bow of my neck, as he reached the two of us.

"Gandalf" Aragorn smiled, yet it was not a greeting. I suppose they had met earlier this morning, for I could smell Aragorn on him, as well as the compelling smell of moonshine, which I could practically taste on him as well as Dúnedain. The whole of Rivendell wreaked of it; a scent to water the buds of my tongue who ,not until now, has felt forever dry.

The wizard placed a fragile hand upon Dúnedain's shoulder as he respectfully bowed his neck to the both of us, forcing the brim of his headpiece closer to my temple where the scent of sodden herbs brewed in the stitches of his hat, again along with scent of moonshine. Crisp it was, a freshness no summer air could overthrow, and yet somber. So compelling my eyes began to shut on me. Yet, with a cock of my head and a still in my breath, my lashes freed themselves of each other.

"hobbits," the wizard grumbled, "running amuck of the place." His tone place a chuckle about my cheeks. It was frustration with upmost love, as if he secretly adored the mischief. I had only met him once on the plains of Mirkwood's fortress. , yet my ears have caught centuries of the wizard. He was a friend to the elves, men, as well as shire folk, who he had the highest admiration toward.

"Yes, at least Samwise can keep a quiet mouth. He is mesmerized by the Elven kin; so far this Rivendell has kept his mind busy." Aragorn stated, with a pleasant smile, which looked odd upon his stress-filled face.

"ah, Samwise." Gandalf began in thought, I could see it in his lips. "Where is Frodo?" his shriveled lips moved, as his eyes flicked between Dúnedain and I.

My heart searched for the wrenching feeling of dwelling weight, and as it found its pull… my eyes found Frodo. Small he was, yet large in height compared to the stout dwarf who mindlessly talked as Frodo leaned an ear to listen, weather wholeheartedly or half I was not certain.

I gestured a hand in Frodo's direction for Gandalf to follow.

"ah, Dwarves… talk the age right into you they will." Gandalf grumbled, with a roll in his eyes. "no, I think I'll just send for him later." I chuckled at the wizard, and with a wave of his hand he was gone, treading the sea of mass flooding Rivendell's dining hall. And half the scent of moonshine left along with him, hobbling away from my bitter face.

And yet some of which still lingered, as did the weight of the ring, elvish delights, and all the socialites who inhabit Rivendell.

My eyes gazed toward the sunlight that crept in through six pillars far off to the west wing. The shine of moonlight was so far off; hidden in the trenches of a deep sea on the horizon. Yet I could smell it still, my tongue sodden with the taste of its pleasure, It's compel, its linger and leisure.

I must find its beholder.


	14. The Council

CHAPTER 14

CALETHIEL

Although my every sense was near extinction, I could still feel the vibrant vibrations of all earthlike creatures that steamed and paraded within the dining hall all the way across Rivendell ground. Their souls had seemed to seep within this elven mud—planting tiny seedlings of hardy, solemn, and sweet memories within these walls as well as around them.

I could not tell if I truly distinguished these vibrations in the air or if I had conjured them only to satisfy the lack of life in my bones.

"Calethiel," a voice mulled in the distance.

Faint this heart of mine was beating, but fainter did it grow in shock, hate, and sickness. I slowly tilted round, shamefully hiding my face with the napped deep auburn tendrils of my scalp. Shaking, and smoldered in a grimace of heart that chose to char the whole of my entirety.

It was Haldir along with Elrond beside him. Haldir, who had called my name, presenting me with a sudden aliment of reminder, causing me to sweat at the temples and buckle at the knees.

"Kindred… you look… pale. And not in like of the beauty of your mother but the sickness of death, I see it around the rims of your lips—" I cut him off as he made his move to place a hand on my rotting skin.

"Do not step towards me, good Haldir." My voice was low. Terribly nearly silent, I glanced at the small anger in the joints of his jaw, along with the sympathy in his brows, and the confusion in his refused palms. "I do not wish to go back, I cannot go back," the words flew from my death-rimmed lips—panicked and scared.

"Doth you not miss us? Have you not lingered for us… for your kingdom… for your mother?

I could not speak. No, I did not miss my kin—I despised them. Every notion of their existence made me sicker, my legs weaker, my mind whimper. I loved Haldir once, I loved my father too; I loved my mother and my kinsmen—loved them enough to understand that if I were to take the thrown their lives would spiral into bedlam, thus leaving with Gandalf to save them—to rid them of my foolish presence. Now , now they repulsed me.

"I am cursed, friend," I said plainly, "cursed and sad." Elrond looked into me with eyes like soap stone—cold and glorious. Haldir's eyes were similar, less understanding and more torn.

"I will rally the council soon, come" Elrond spoke to Haldir. "Calethiel…" Elrond muttered with an inviting look on his face. He needed not to do that, I knew I was instructed to join the council from above, if anyone looked upon my rotting face the whole meeting would seem a joke—their voices would question in whispers and murmurs: "is she expected to be good help?"

Creaking and cracking down the stairs my bones managed to reach the bottom. This less than mortal phase was really a drag—my feet ache—I just wish to nestle into bark and look upward.

The teaming voices of dwarves and men and elves were louder now, as I waited outside the dining hall for Elrond's announcement. In this moment, I let my shame fall into the core of my heart. Haldir, my dear brethren, my beloved father figure after Celeborn had passed—the look of concern on his face was latent, but I saw it, I knew of his disgust. He looked at me as if I were a monstrosity—as if the final bleak glimmer of hope of my eventual return to the throne had finally become obsolete.

In my despair, I noticed the council of Elrond lined behind him toward the round. I made my way to balcony above the round where the council will discuss—this sense of urgency—anxiety—in me was the first no selfish thought I've had since the light had been sucked from my body and into that cold orb in the sky. If Frodo has the ring, if there is a chance for Sauron to be plummeted into the vast darkness that he dragged my father into ages before, I will help- even if my bones feel like glass.

I settled myself, foot dangling from the balcony, the tendrils of my hair draped over with it.


End file.
